Knee Socks
by LikeAnN7
Summary: Scott Hoying is a frequent customer at a strange club, where he enjoys people-watching. When the seductive, mysterious Mitch Grassi catches his eye, he decides to introduce himself. Scomiche AU, one-shot. Lots of sexiness, with a dash of cuteness to sum it all up.


******Hey everyone, so sorry that I haven't put anything up in a little while. I have a couple of stories I'm working on, but I'll be out of town for a few days so they won't be up for a while. Here's a Scomiche one-shot based on the Arctic Monkeys song Knee Socks. Again, it's a one-shot but maybe it could be more? Lemme know if you like it, thanks! 3******

Knee Socks

The room swirled with an oppressive darkness, pierced lazily by the dusty lights of the dance floor.

It was different than any other club. The music was deep and slow and strange, and the room swam with the thick scent of sawdust and expensive cologne. Instead of tight, sparkly dresses, the occupants donned ripped jeans and faded t-shirts. It was the only club Scott went to these days.

He came here several times a week. Some days he danced, some he didn't. Some days he drank himself into a stupor, and others he only had a beer or tow. Some days he sat in a melancholy silence, and others he chatted lively with everyone at the bar. Some days he brought someone home, but most days he didn't.

And on some days, like today, he sat at the bar, sipping one of their obscure cocktails and watching the club's other occupants. The bartender and bouncers knew him by name by now, and occasionally he liked to quietly observe any newcomers. Scott recognized returning customers, and took note of any new faces that looked interesting.

That's when he saw _him._

The young man matched the atmosphere of the club almost perfectly. His ink-black hair was mostly shaved, and his dark eyes snapped against his pale skin. Tattoos spiraled up and down his arms, and he sat to the side of the dance floor, watching the others as well. He was almost too sharply contrasted for the washed-out crowd, but his edgy look was softened by a thin, loose-fitting gray t-shirt that emphasized the skeletal frame of his body.

The man rose suddenly, setting his drink aside. He moved not at the request of a friend or at the invitation from another dancer, he stood and stepped forward, compelled by some unknown force. He had decided he would dance now, and the crowd parted for him, commanded by the nobility of his presence.

As he sashayed across the floor to find a spot worthy of his dancing, he walked directly along Scott's line of vision, letting him observe the rest of his outfit. His t-shirt was paired with a pair of very short, frayed jean shorts and black combat boots, but what really caught Scott's eye were the black socks that climbed up his thin legs, reaching up to cover his knees.

Scott wasn't the only one who noticed, and the man's ensemble rewarded him with dozens of pairs of eyes watching his movements nervously, each at war with themselves as they tried to decide whether or not to approach him. His swaying body was intriguing, but he invoked an air that made all others feel unworthy of his attention. Scott watched, entranced, as he snaked his arms up over his head, every subtle shift of his hips drawing Scott in.

'Finally,' he thought, 'someone interesting.'

Scott took a final swig of his liquid courage and made up his mind. This man didn't scare him; in fact his regal attitude only deepened Scott's interest. With that, Scott stood, crossing the room in a few graceful strides.

Fearless, he stepped up behind this mysterious man, his hands resting on his hips. The man jumped, turning out of Scott's hands quickly to look at him. His confidence was betrayed for a moment as Scott saw a look of confusion flicker across his face.

Scott stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He didn't reach out for him again, not yet. The man met his challenge, his face falling back into its composed mold as he refused to back away.

"Hello there," Scott smiled, "My name's Scott."

The man's nearly-black eyes searched Scotts, trying to deduce as much as he could from Scott's pale blue gaze. Scott let him; his own eyes were much more interested in the sight before him. From this close, he could make out several of the young man's tattoos, and when he noticed his septum was pierced, he struggled not to connect their bodies again.

"Mitch." The word surprised Scott, until he realized it had come from the man's sculpted red lips.

"Nice to meet you Mitch," Scott regained his composure, glad to see Mitch's hostility ebbing.

Scott let himself start to bob with the music, and Mitch did so as well when he realized that several onlookers had noticed them bizarrely standing still in the middle of the dance floor.

Scott relaxed, unable to help smiling at Mitch's intensely serious gaze. He watched Scott closely, and Scott held his stare. After a long moment, Mitch must have approved, because he smirked, and allowed his eyes to detach themselves from Scott's and travel down his body.

Scott knew he was attractive. He was tall, easily a head taller than Mitch, and his well-muscled body earned him a fair share of attention. He watched Mitch carefully, his eyes widening when one of Mitch's hands reached out, tracing and intricate pattern on Scott's chest in a seductive taunt. Scott let his hands find Mitch's sharp hips again, and their movements aligned so that they danced in sync.

"So," Mitch's eyes narrowed as Scott began, judging his words before they even passed his lips. "I haven't seen you here before." It was a statement, but Scott paused, hoping the silence would coax Mitch into replying.

Mitch gave in hesitantly. "Yeah, I heard this place was pretty cool."

"What do you think?" Scott smiled again, his eyes studying every subtlety of the other's expression.

Mitch raised an arched eyebrow. "I'm not sure. The atmosphere is… interesting."

Scott knew Mitch was no fool, and had picked up on his game immediately.

' _How nice of him to play along,_ ' Scott thought _. 'I can work with interesting.'_

"I think you are very interesting as well Mitch." Mitch didn't attempt to feign surprise, he was well aware that Scott had been asking about himself, not the club, and he had responded in kind. But now he was being straightforward? Mitch was puzzled, what kind of game was he playing now?

"And why is that?" he asked neutrally, rocking his hips to the beat of the music.

"You're different," Scott stated plainly. "I come here quite often, and something about you makes you stand out. Everyone here can see that."

"Mm-hmm," Mitch hummed, "then why aren't they creeping on me instead?'

Scott ignored the obvious stab at him and continued, "Because they're afraid of you. You have a…. presence about you. Like royalty."

Mitch allowed himself to smile.

"Exactly. And the queen doesn't bother herself with commoners," he paused, weighing his words carefully. "But you aren't a commoner, are you Scott?"

Scott smiled again, and it was a smile as strange and dark as the club, giving off the impression that he knew something he didn't ought to.

"Hopefully not, but I think that no matter what I say, you've already made up your mind about me."

"Very good," Mitch praised, "And very true."

Scott tightened his grip on Mitch's waist, and Mitch bit his lip and let him.

"So you came to a strange new club all alone?" Scott probed.

Mitch shrugged. "I don't care for most people."

"Most?" Scott pressed, his eyes lit from within by a keen interest.

Mitch rolled his eyes slowly; Scott wasn't even attempting to be subtle now. "A few people have earned the grace of my affection," he remarked. If Scott was going to be blunt, then so was he.

"Good," Scott answered, and Mitch was perplexed.

"Good?" he asked, trying to keep his tone disinterested, but fairly sure he was failing.

Scott grinned, high-fiving himself internally. 1 point to Scott.

"Good because it you don't hate everyone, then I have a chance."

"A slim chance," Mitch countered and his eyes flashed a warning.

"A slim chance," Scott corrected himself.

"My turn," Mitch said, smoothing his hair into place. It was a demand, and it was not to be argued.

"Alright," Scott smirked, curious as to what question Mitch would produce.

Mitch took his time deciding, but Scott was patient. He waited as Mitch thought, drawing up possible questions and guessing at Scott's answers.

"Why are _you_ here?" Mitch asked finally. "Why do you come here so often?"

Scott wasted no time in responding. "Why is everyone?" He tossed back, continuing when Mitch raised his eyebrow again, choosing not to make a guess. "To forget."

Scott reveled in the look of intrigue on Mitch's face.

"Forget what?"

Scott let his question hang in the air for a moment before shrugging, layering his answer with casualness. "Everything," he replied. "In here, who you are doesn't matter. Where you came from, where you're going," he gave another small shrug, "doesn't matter."

Mitch didn't reply, just frowned slightly, wondering what this friendly stranger wasn't telling him.

Scott was afraid that he had taken it too far, that he was going to scare Mitch off by being so strange. However, the beat of the song changed and Mitch's eyes lit up.

"I love this song!" The words passed his lips quickly, too quickly, and he hurried to return his features to their proper composure. When he glanced up at Scott, he saw him smiling again. It was a different smile now, open and genuine, and Mitch bashfully let himself be excited again.

Scott tilted his head to listen, but he couldn't recognize the tune. When the singer's voice entered, however, its source became immediately clear.

"Arctic Monkeys?" Mitch grinned, letting him know his guess was correct.

"Is this…? No way," he paused, his eyes flickering down to Mitch's sheer thigh-highs incredulously, "Knee Socks?"

The familiar rhythm was distorted, slowed and paired with a deep, sad, bass that made it much more gothic-sounding. While the changes were unusual, Scott found they captured the essence of the club quite accurately.

He returned his attention to Mitch.

"You know it?" The dark-haired man asked, trying in vain not to sound too eager.

"Yeah, I didn't recognize it," Scott glanced down at Mitch's socks again. "Weird coincidence, huh?"

Mitch furrowed his brow, not understanding, then followed Scott's gaze down to his legs.

"Oh," he breathed, realizing. "Yeah, weird."

The music was good. Very good. Mitch began to let himself go, his body moving to the beat of its own accord. Scott kept up, to his satisfaction.

' _What the hell_ ,' Mitch shrugged, wrapping his arms around Scott's neck, pulling himself closer so that their bodies occasionally brushed with the rhythm of their movement. Scott squeezed his hips, his fingers tightening and releasing slowly, relaying his approval. He watched Mitch's face, completely hypnotized by the way the faded lights washed across his bold features.

With his piercing eyes closed, Mitch looked much younger, and he danced to the music with a reckless abandon that could only be explained by youth. His fingers worked against Scott's neck, an entrancing massage that caused Scott to tip his head down, a spark shooting through him as their foreheads connected.

Mitch's eyes opened, their dark auburn color almost completely swallowed by his pupils as he gazed up at Scott hungrily.

Scott held himself back, but it was very difficult. Mitch's mouth so close to his own made a stampede of emotions course through Scott, each frantically battling to come out on top. He decided he wasn't going to kiss him….

Yet.

Mitch smirked, and in one unexpected, fluid motion, he removed his arms from Scott's neck and spun around, pressing his body back into Scott's roughly.

Every nerve in Scott's body was on fire. The sudden contact startled him, and his eyes rolled back into his head as the warmth of Mitch's body flowed along the entire length of his. His hands gripped Mitch's hips again, terrified that at any moment he might slip from his grasp.

Their bodies moved together, and Scott focused on each tiny sensation; the soft fabric of Mitch's t-shirt, the friction building where his much-too-short jeans met Scotts, and the silkiness of Mitch's socks against his pant legs.

Mitch began to grind back against him, one arm winding around Scott's neck to anchor him as he dipped and swayed.

Scott heard him quietly adding his own high, breathless voice to the singer's lower vibrato. He found it simultaneously terribly endearing, and extremely sexy. He rolled his hips forward, earning him a gasp. Scott let his head nod forward, his breath panting against Mitch's pale throat.

Mitch bit his lip, his head falling back to rest against Scott's warm chest. He submitted to Scott, letting him control the speed of their combined dance. Scott grinned against his neck, understanding that giving up control was not something Mitch did lightly.

Suddenly, as if to remind him that he was still in charge, Mitch's fingers tightened on the back of his neck, yanking his mouth down to meet his. The kiss was slower than Scott expected, and far too short. Mitch pulled back with an evil grin, silencing Scott's protests by jerking his hips back into Scott's.

Scott blushed at the noise that escaped his lips. He could tell from Mitch's smile that he had heard, and his cheeks darkened further. He released Mitch with one hand, seizing his jaw to kiss the smug look off of Mitch's face. Scott held Mitch to him for much longer this time, his kiss deep and insistent. When he broke away for air, the dazed, seductive look on Mitch's face made him forget why he'd stopped.

Scott kissed him again, his tongue darting out to demand entry into Mitch's sweet little mouth. Mitch hesitated before complying, making Scott wait just one second more before giving him what he wanted. No matter what he did, Scott got the feeling it was exactly what Mitch expected, and nothing happened that Mitch didn't allow. He had Scott wrapped around his finger.

It was infuriating.

However, it was also extremely sexy, and Scott stop his lips from wandering away from Mitch's mouth, wanting to leave a mark on his perfectly smooth throat. He trailed kisses from his jaw all the way down to the base of his neck before he let his teeth sink in. Mitch gasped again, and let out perfectly breathy moans as Scott sucked the pain from his bite.

He twisted away from Scott suddenly, leaving him baffled, his lips parted in confusion. But then Mitch grabbed his hand, a mischievous gleam lighting his eyes as he tugged Scott towards the door. Scott's brain clicked into gear and he hurried out after Mitch.

The night (morning?) air was brisk, but Scott was warmed by Mitch's fingers intertwining with his. The gesture was surprisingly innocent, and Scott found himself smiling stupidly as Mitch waved for a cab.

When one stopped beside them, Scott surprised himself by opening the door for Mitch, then slid in after him. Mitch told the driver an address, but Scott didn't hear it. He was focused on Mitch, his cheeks tinted pink from the cold and his eyes shining. When Mitch began to rub his hands up and down his bare arms to warm them, Scott couldn't help himself.

He reached out, pulling Mitch into his lap as he wrapped his arms around him. Mitch glanced at Scott in wonder before kissing him again, his small hands cupping Scott's face sweetly.

The kiss started gentle and innocent, but Mitch sped it up quickly. In an instant, their tongues were battling, and Mitch's hands moved down to Scott's chest, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. He moved slowly in Scott's lap, gently grinding their bodies together as he raised and lowered his hips.

The heat Mitch radiated was incredible. Scott didn't understand how he could ever be cold when his mouth produced so much warmth. And where his hands roamed across Scott's body, they left trails of tingling nerves, buzzing with heat and energy.

The driver must have turned on the radio to drown them out, because Mitch pulled away with a startled gasp. His eyes practically sparkled as he turned back to Scott, making him chuckle.

"You like this song?" Scott asked obviously.

Mitch nodded, biting his lip. His eyes narrowed gorgeously as he laughed softly, "I keep ruining the mood, don't i?"

"No," Scott shook his head quickly, drawing Mitch's face down to his again, "It's adorable."

Mitch had been referred to by many adjectives, but adorable was new. Not unpleasant, however. Scott captured his mouth again, and he sighed into his touch.

They couldn't reach Mitch's apartment fast enough.

Ridiculously, Mitch had a flash of anxiety as they rushed into the building. For the first time, Mitch was actually worried whether or not his partner would like it.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Scott pulled Mitch to him again. He felt as if he could kiss Mitch for hours on end, clutching his slim frame to his chest.

Mitch unlocked his apartment with fumbling hands, barely locking it again behind them before Scott pinned him against the door. His keys slipped from his fingers, falling forgotten at his feet as Scott lifted him in his arms.

"Bedroom?" he panted, and Mitch gestured vaguely before reconnecting their mouths. Scott carried him easily, Mitch's legs wrapped around his waist and his hands clutching Scott's face desperately. Despite Mitch's useless directions, Scott found his room and stumbled inside, falling into the bed with a laugh.

Scott woke the next morning with the familiar shock of waking anywhere other than your own bed. He adjusted quickly, smiling sleepily at the beautiful man in his arms. Mitch's dark hair spilled against Scott's shoulder, and he looked as if he belonged curled against him.

Scott let his eyes wander about the room slowly. The walls were painted a soft brown, and the room looked to Scott as if it had come from a catalogue. The nightstand beside him was furnished with an old-fashioned clock, an ornate lamp, and some sort of cinnamon candle. The bookshelf across the room was artistically messy, cluttered with small trinkets, obscure artifacts that were immortalized by a sentimental value Scott didn't understand.

But he wanted to.

Scott wanted to know which book on the shelf was read most frequently, what Mitch daydreamed about when he worked at the desk in the corner, what music he listened to when he sat in the tidy window seat.

The curtains were closed, but Scott could tell by the faint light that it was fairly early in the morning. He glanced down at Mitch, then around his room, then back down at Mitch again, his sharp features relaxed in sleep. Scott gently brushed Mitch's hair out of his eyes, causing him to smile slightly in his sleep.

Scott had gone through this routine a dozen times, always slipping out wordlessly the morning after. It prevented any awkwardness, Scott knew, but for some reason, he didn't want to get up.

He disentangled himself from Mitch slowly, grimacing when Mitch made a small noise of discomfort. Scott sat on the edge of the bed, letting out a sigh as he bent to pick up his boxers from the floor. He stood slightly to pull them on, and then plopped back onto the bed indecisively. Scott was about to heft himself to his feet when he felt a hand on his arm. He twisted to see Mitch watching him through deep brown eyes.

"Do you want to leave?" He asked quietly, so quietly.

"No." Scott's voice was a hoarse whisper. He couldn't force himself to lie.

"Then stay."

Scott's eyes widened at Mitch's words. A coy smile pulled across Mitch's lips and he tugged at Scott's arm. Scott slid back under the covers, easing himself onto his back. Mitch flung an arm across his chest, nuzzling into his side. Scott wrapped an arm around him, holding him close.

Maybe this time would be different.

Maybe Scott would get to hang around and learn more about this mysterious, fantastic, gorgeous young man. Maybe they could be something more than a one night stand. Maybe one day, years from now, they would look back together at the night they had met.

He certainly hoped so.


End file.
